


Something Solid to Build Upon

by nhpw



Series: Fire and the Flood [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Biting, Boys Kissing, Childhood Memories, Dom Dean, Dom/sub, Edging, Fondling, Groping, Happy Ending, Hickeys, M/M, Making Out, Past Child Abuse, Sub Castiel, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 03:18:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7601347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhpw/pseuds/nhpw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Castiel really get to know each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Solid to Build Upon

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you thank you THANK YOU all of you!! You guys are amazing and fantastic and I don't have the words to express how much I appreciate your feedback on and support of this series.
> 
> This third installment was a tough one to write. I scrapped large chunks of the initial draft and struggled to find a direction. I knew I wanted them to get to know each other better, and to go outside the club, but struggled with how to do that. When the story finally chose its own direction, it took off to a completely unexpected place. Please know that as I struggled with putting this together, it was all of you, your encouragement, your kind reviews that kept me plugging away at it. Ultimately, I'm very happy with how it turned out, and I hope you are too.
> 
> There is discussion of past child abuse (of Castiel) in this story. It's not graphic, but it is there. I feel the need to point this out definitively. That said, it doesn't have a huge impact on the story as a whole and when you get to that section, you can skim over it if you wish. It begins with Dean saying, "Tell me about the scars, Castiel."
> 
> Once again, thank you all. I'm not sure what I'll do with this series from here, whether it will be further continued, but this has been a great road and I've truly enjoyed building this 'verse and am just so happy that it's been so well received.

“Hey there, sleepyhead.” It’s both relaxed and bemused as it meets Cas’ ears, and he turns his head up to find Dean smiling down at him. “Sleep well?”

“Mmmmhmmm.”

A thumb under Castiel’s chin tilts his head up for a kiss. “How do you feel now?” It’s still light, but there’s a hint of seriousness.

“Better.”

“Good.”

“I’m sorry about…”

But a firm finger presses to his lips and the raise of both of Dean’s eyebrows cuts him off. “Not another word, or I’ll have to punish you. The not-sexy way.” The raised eyebrows wiggle, and Castiel’s mouth slides into a smile that matches Dean’s. “Thank you for sharing that moment with me.” Cas drops his eyes and blushes, but Dean tightens his finger hold on the sub’s chin. “I mean it.”

“Thank you, too.” It’s soft, like self-acceptance in a word. Dean takes it as such and with a nod, he releases Castiel’s chin.

There’s a knock at the door, and Dean spins away to grab a robe before he answers it. “We’re going to eat something,” he says by way of explanation before opening the door and accepting a couple of brown paper bags from the person on the other side, “And then we’ll get dressed and go out. I want to show you my house.”

Cas gets up slowly, stretching his arms above his head and giving Dean a glimpse of what looks like extreme flexibility. Then he pads over to the small dining table where he’d written in his journal what seems like eons ago and takes the chair across from Dean. “You don’t live here?”

Dean chuckles at that behind closed lips as he opens one of the two bags of food and starts digging inside. “This is my play space at the club. It’s not big enough nor functional enough to be a home for me full time. In fact…” He pulls out two identical balls of aluminum foil and hands one to Castiel, “I usually only keep one change of clothes in here, and not much by way of accessories. This time here with you is the most solid block of time I’ve ever spent in this room in one go. Hope you like burritos,” he spins, changing the subject without so much as blinking, and Cas can only nod dumbly as he opens the foil. “Good, because this place is amazing. Dig in.”

They eat mostly in silence, though Dean seems to be boring into Cas with his eyes the whole time, looking at him whenever his head isn’t turned down to take a bite from the stuffed tortilla in his hands. After a few minutes, Cas finds himself doing the same, and their eyes eventually meet more than not when they look up from their food.

“So,” Dean says finally, giving a long study to his last bite of burrito before popping it into his mouth, “you sat at the table with me.”

Castiel’s face burns and his eyes turn downcast toward the floor, and it’s not until Dean starts to chuckle that Cas dares to meet the Dom’s eyes again.

“It’s OK.” The reassurance comes as Dean crosses his arms over the table in front of him and studies Castiel with a sparkling gaze. “And I’m glad. It tells me that while you may have some bad habits, you respect yourself as a human being. Make no mistake, Castiel, your place is at my side.”

He barely manages a, “Thank you,” as he trips over his next inhale.

“You’re welcome. We clearly need to have a conversation about what I expect from you.” He quirks an eyebrow, and Cas nods in agreement. “But you’re the one tumbling ass over teakettle, changing your life to be with me, so the way I see it, I’m in no position to be demanding anything of you just yet. We’ll start with something simple. There’re clothes for you in the fourth drawer of that bureau.” He points. “Get dressed. We’ll leave as soon as you’re ready.”

His eyes follow as Cas stands, pushes in his chair, and pads over to the bureau. Inside the fourth drawer are two changes of clothes - worn jeans, tees, a navy blue zip-up hoodie, socks, a pair of sandals that are probably Dean’s own. All of this probably came from Dean’s drawers and closet at home, he thinks, and it makes him smile at the comfort of being clothed in his new Dominant’s warmth. But as he checks more closely, he notices something. “Sir?”

“Problem?”

“There’s… no underwear.”

There it is. Dean’s face slides up into a smirk and his eyes narrow, pupils dilating slightly as his eyes rake over Castiel’s form. “I know.”

***

The brick-red tee fits a little loosely around Castiel’s shoulders, and the jeans are an inch too long, but it’s not so much that anyone will care. Dean gives the entire outfit - all from his own dresser drawers at home, but damn, he’s going to have to dress Castiel in his clothes more often - a nod of approval. “Handsome enough to fuck,” he breathes. Then he steps into the submissive’s space and kisses him, a short but passionate staking of his claim before sliding a hand down to entwine their fingers and lead Castiel out of the play space.

As they weave through the club, getting nods of acknowledgment and approval from other patrons, Dean’s heart swells with something. _Pride_ , he thinks. _It’s pride, and it’s been hard to come by except in this business nearly your whole life, so savor it, you idjit._ He can hear Uncle Bobby’s voice dropping in that last quip. He’s beaming by the time they slide out the main doors to the lobby, where full dress is required, and cross paths with Benny.

“Stepping out, boss?” Benny asks - casual, but knowing.

“Back in a few hours, Benny,” Dean returns, waving over Cas’ shoulder with his free hand without slowing his steps.

There’s something more from Benny, but Dean doesn’t catch it. They’re out the door and into the dark and cold of the January evening. The chill goes right to Dean’s bones, but Cas looks unbothered by it, only absently rubbing at his bare arms. “Not cold?” he asks, genuinely curious, because he can’t figure out why Castiel doesn’t seem affected by the near-freezing temp.

“At home, in Chicago, it’s at least ten degrees colder,” he returns absently, eyes drifting to the sky. “It was snowing when I left.”

“Ah.” They stride across The Mark’s parking lot, and Dean stops beside his baby, giving her a quick circle to check for new scratches. Pleased not to find any, he opens Castiel’s door and lets him inside before returning to the driver’s side. “Here, it’s not the snow that’ll get you. It’s the ice. I mean, sure we’ll get a few inches every now and then, but. Black ice, that’s what closes the schools.” Baby’s engine purrs to life, and Dean gives her an affectionate pat on the dashboard before shifting the car into gear.

“Nice car.”

“Isn’t she?” He checks for traffic and rolls into the street. “She, uh. She was my dad’s. I got ‘er after he passed. She was in rough shape, but Uncle Bobby helped me fix her right up, taught me how to take care of her.” He says no more, just focuses on navigating the familiar path back to his street, to pull up his driveway and shift into park. Then he looks at Cas, and finds a thoughtful look on the sub’s face. “I know,” he says, left arm draped across the steering wheel and he thinks… _this is it. This is the beginning of the end. I start to show him who I am outside the bedroom, and he starts to lose interest._ “Not exactly 50 Shades, is it? It’s OK. I’ve heard it before.”

But Castiel just shakes his head. “If you were Christian Grey, I wouldn’t be sitting in your passenger seat. I’d be running fast and hard in the other direction. You’re a regular guy. That’s…”

“Incredibly pedestrian and dull.”

“Shut up, Dean.”

“You really are a mouthy one, ain’t ya?” Dean smirks, biting his lower lip as he exits the car and circles around to open Cas’ door. From there, he leads the other man up the front steps and in through the front door. He starts to orate a tour off the top of his head as he closes the door behind them, but he trails off as he notices Castiel’s approach. He walks slowly through the open floor plan, shoes tapping against the harwood of the living room as he rounds past the bay window and back into Dean’s kitchen. Reverent fingers brush over marble countertops, and Dean is transfixed. Castiel looks by all rights like he’s just walked into Heaven itself. It’s just the pads of his fingers skimming over appliances and countertops, just slightly parted lips and upcast eyes as he comes back around to join Dean in the living room. “You like it?”

“I love it.” He’s wandering down the carpeted hall toward the bed and bathrooms now, and Dean trails behind the slow steps of his submissive until they reach the master bedroom at the end of the hall. At the threshold, Castiel’s free-range wandering comes to a halt. Dean’s close enough to hear the sharp intake of breath, and he brings a firm hand down on Castiel’s shoulder.

Truth be told, he rarely brings a sub here because… well, because most of them aren’t looking for what he’s looking for. There have been two, only two, before Cas who’ve stepped into this room, and this is the very first time he’s been behind a sub on their first entry. He has absolutely no idea what Castiel might be thinking.

He follows as Cas takes a few cautious steps across the dark cherry floorboards; watches as the sub’s head tilts so his eyes can study the hooks and riggings on the ceiling. Finally, blessedly, he speaks - an observation, but the upturn of his tone makes it come across more as a question. “You’re into ropes?”

“I like to work with my hands,” Dean returns, and comes up behind Castiel, hands sliding down his arms in tandem to meet over his belly and turn him because Dean can’t stand to not look into those eyes. “Ropes, riggers, restraints, bondage… I like the trust it requires from my submissive. I like the control it gives me.” He knows how it looks, how it sounds, to anyone not familiar with the life. In comparison to the rest of his home - a ranch just like his neighbors, with standard blue shutters and white siding and an attached garage, and an open floor plan, modern kitchen and finished basement Man Cave on the inside - his bedroom is a one-of-a-kind den of inequity. And what Cas can see - the four-poster bed with built-in hooks and carabiners, the suspension riggers on the ceiling, the swing in the corner - is really only the permanent set-up. Carefully, he takes Castiel’s hand and leads him over to his closet, pulls open the tell-all chest of drawers inside. Slides the drawers open one at a time to lay bare his collection. After pulling open the final drawer, he meets Castiel’s eyes. They’re wide, pupils blown, and his lips are parted slightly.

This brat he’d chosen from the crowd on a whim, this sub who’d told him to shut up not 10 minutes prior… is speechless. And Dean can’t tell for the life of him if the silence is precursor to fight or to flight.

He lets the silence stretch for as long as he can before clearing his throat. “So,” he says, and for the first time, he has to tear his eyes away, because he’s certain that if he’s rejected now, he’s going to let a tear or two fall, “We should probably talk.”

***

It’s not really until Cas lays eyes on Dean’s… bedroom, and he uses that term loosely… that he’s hit with the full weight of _exactly_ what he’s about to do. Somehow, he hadn’t given much consideration to Dean’s life outside The Mark or to what kind of future they might have as a couple until that very moment. And submissive though he may be, Cas had spent nearly all his years of experimentation playing with amateurs. Even Balthazar, though he’d collared Castiel, was a novice who mostly took BDSM as a purely sexual opportunity to play, to spank and tease, to have fun and add spice. He’d worn the title “Dominant” like some kind of catch-all for getting Castiel to abide by his wishes, and when it was over, when he was done, he just walked out. It was a game for him. No strings attached.

Dean, it’s abundantly clear, isn’t that.

Dean approaches BDSM as a craft, as a discipline. It’s more than just a fetish; being a Dominant is woven through his veins like the ropes coiled in his Kink Chest. It isn’t a game for him. It’s a way of life. And he takes it as seriously as an artist, poised to create a masterpiece.

Which in this case makes Castiel his intended artistic medium, and that, Cas thinks, is something pretty special.

He follows Dean to the living room and accepts the invitation to cuddle into the other man’s side. They’re quiet for a long time, and then Dean’s voice rumbles out from his chest as he strokes calming fingers through Castiel’s hair, “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

There are a lot of things he could say, because right now, he has a lot of thoughts. But when he opens his mouth, what tumbles out is, “This is a lot all at once.”

Dean’s fingers continue their idle play as he lets out a quiet hum. “It is, isn’t it?” He agrees finally. Again, the fall into silence, and then Dean breaks it with a curious, “What’s your favorite color?”

“What?”

“What what?”

Castiel sits up and peers at Dean incredulously. “Is this how you normally court a sub? ‘Here, let me show you my kinky sex dungeon, and by the way how do you take your eggs?’”

Dean shrugs, undeterred. “I didn’t ask about your breakfast habits, I asked about your favorite color. But we can talk about my bedroom if you’d rather. I’d just like to get to know you. The rest of you,” he amends, and Cas can feel those eyes raking him over so intimately he has to choke back a moan. “Has anyone ever tied you before?”

“Briefly, as a demo at a club,” Cas responds immediately, and he frowns at himself as he wonders why this answer came with no hesitation, whereas he’d been thrown off by the nonsexual question about his color preferences. “A past partner… wanted to learn, or thought he wanted to learn, I guess. But he didn’t have the patience for it.”

“Did you?”

“Huh?”

“Did you have the patience for it? The ability to hold still, to relax into the ropes? To trust the person binding you?”

Castiel chews on his bottom lip and ducks his head to hide a smile, but after a beat, he gives up the act and looks up at Dean with what he hopes is a devilish grin. “I loved it,” he breathes, and the way Dean smiles says his answer came off just right.

“Good.” Dean smiles softly. Blinks. Reaches out to caress Castiel’s cheek with gentle fingers and then guide him in for a kiss. “Favorite color?” And this time, breathed against his lips, it makes Castiel laugh.

“Green.”

“And your eggs?” Another kiss, deeper than the first.

“Dean…”

“Eggs.” But there’s a hand snaking between them to rest on Cas’ thigh, and it makes it hard to keep focus.

“Poached, preferably with salmon.”

“Mmmm. Not just a brat, but spoiled, too.” But Dean’s smiling as he dives into the next kiss like he has an agenda, tongue probing deep and hands seemingly everywhere all at once.  
Castiel expects what he’s learned to expect at this point - making out that leads to the shedding of clothes, which leads them to the bedroom, which leads to kinky sex of some sort, where he’s mostly told what to do and he mostly does it, unless he wants to be punished.

So when Dean’s mouth and hands leave him and the Dom settles back into the couch, it leaves Cas feeling just a tad unsettled.

“You said you like burgers,” Dean says in a casual way that might’ve made sense if they hadn’t just been all over each other. “I know a great place. We’ll get dinner there. We’ll need to go out anyway, to stop by your hotel room and get your stuff.” Castiel furrows his eyebrows incredulously and can’t help a glance at his lap. Dean raises his eyebrows in reply as his face slides into a sly grin. “What?”

“You…”

“Oh, you thought we were going to play?” His eyebrows bounce playfully. “Maybe later. If you can behave.”

“I…”

“Brattiness doesn’t feel so good when it’s on the other foot now, does it?” Cas doesn’t have time to close his eyes before those delicious lips are on his again, and when Dean’s tongue probes, he opens willingly for the kiss. This time when Dean pulls back, Cas lets out an audible whimper. Dean just smiles slyly and leans away from Cas, settling into the arm of the couch. “Tell me what it is that you hate about your job, exactly.”

Cas stares at Dean, and Dean stares back, unblinking. Conversely, it takes Castiel a solid fifteen seconds of rapid-fire blinking to make his brain function again. Even then, he can only manage an incredulous, “What?”

“Your job,” Dean repeats, face and voice both turning more stern as the Dom leans forward just enough to be intimidating. “Is it the work, the people, the corporate structure, some combination of the above, what?” And then he sits back again, hands knitted together across his middle, a self-satisfied grin sending Castiel’s head into a whirlwind spin.

***

Dean feels extremely pleased with himself.

Really, he can’t recall a time when he’s ever been this satisfied with his work, and Castiel is still wearing all his clothes. It can only get better from here.

His mission is two-fold. He intends to learn about Castiel - who he is as a person, his life, his past, everything, and willingly divulge his own information as well - while slipping in a message of control with a little bit of spiced up seduction.

Admittedly, he hasn’t thought it all the way through til morning, but some of that is up to Castiel. It has to be.

Benny’s voice echoes across years and experience, but it rings true and clear as Dean looks into the eyes of the man now seated on his couch. _Whatever the cornerstone of your relationship, Sugar, it’s a two-way street. Their submission don’t mean squat if you force them into a box you built before you met them, y’hear? You gotta be willin’ to bend for them. Compromise. ‘N never forget, Dean. In the end, you’re both human._

“It’s…” Castiel’s soft chuckle draws Dean back to the present, back to the man seated across from him. The blue-eyed man is smiling down at his lap, looking every bit like a sheepish child as he says, “Cliche as it sounds? It isn’t what I thought it would be.”

“How so?”

“I, uh… I have a BA in Marketing from the University of Chicago. When I got it, I was so full of hope, you know? All naive and wide-eyed that I was going to _make a difference_ and _help businesses succeed_ and _create amazing, eye-catching ads_. What I actually do is sell ad space, which amounts to spending a lot of time on the phone and in ridiculous e-mail conversations with people who automatically hate me because I’m trying to sell them something.” Dean’s enrapt with the way Cas tells this story - putting air quotes around his stressed words and eventually falling off to a completely dejected tone. His inflection is uncanny - Dean wonders if he tells all his stories with this much animation. “Really kind of soured me on human beings in general.”

“You’re here with me, though.”

“Yeah, well. You’re different.”

“Not so much. I’m just on the flip side of the aisle. I don’t sell ad space - I buy it. And I think you could be an asset to my team.”

“You want me to come work for you.” The inflection is backward, ending flat where it maybe should have been upturned for a question, and that makes Dean smile.

“Yes. I want you to come live with me, work for me, be in my life, Castiel. I want all of that.” He catches the sparkle of a smile in Castiel’s eyes that doesn’t quite reach his mouth and leans in, resuming the kiss. He notes how Castiel melts against him - warm and yielding, but firm, telling of the toned body underneath his borrowed clothing.

Dean lets the kiss go for as long as he dares - he has a couple of trigger points in his own psyche that tell him when he needs to pull back and reset, and this time he sustains the kiss as he accepts all of Castiel into his lap and keeps him there, running his nails over a clothed chest.

The first trigger trips, and he pulls back when he feels his own erection twitch.

The separation is painful, but the wrecked look on Castiel’s face is more than worth the effort.

There’s a whine, and then Castiel narrows his eyes. “This _isn’t fair_.” There’s an annoyed staccato in his tone, and Dean chuckles conspiratorily under his breath.

“Not fair? Or just not what you expected?” An exhaled whimper is the only response. “I’m nowhere near finished with you, Angel. But I’ll make you a deal. You stop whimpering and whining like a spoiled brat being denied a cookie, and I’ll let you stay here in my lap this time. What do you say?” There’s a rubbing of a nod against his chest, and Dean reaches under Castiel’s chin to lift it so he can study the sub’s face. He’s gorgeous - blown pupils, flushed cheeks, lips slightly parted like he’s not sure he can manage a verbal response, but he’s trying. Dean leans in to rest their foreheads together. “Good. Now. I’d like for this to be a two-way conversation. You ask me things about me, I ask you things about you. And for better or for worse, I’m gonna treat you like you’re mine the whole. Fucking. Time.” He reaches down and runs a flat palm over the sub’s clothed erection, giving a squeeze for emphasis. “If you’re good, this will end with you getting exactly what you want. If not? Not.” Dean shrugged, playing off the gnaw in his gut that really doesn’t know if he’d be able to follow through on the threat. “Sound good?”

“Yes Sir.” It’s gravelly, deep, tinged with lust. It’s perfect.

“Then let’s get started.”

***

The next two hours are the most blissfully painful two hours of Castiel’s entire life.

They talk about everything: Childhood memories, siblings, cars that they drive, jobs they’ve held, things they regret, hopes and dreams. At first, Cas is so far gone that he’s incapable of holding up his end of the “asking” part of the conversation. He’s hyper-aware of Dean’s warmth and scent and the solid bulge in the Dom’s pants, and he can’t focus on anything but sex. But it gets easier. Dean asks if Cas wants children. Cas says he doesn’t know. Not now, maybe not ever; he doesn’t come from great genes, doesn’t have great role models, and he has plenty of nieces and nephews to dote on. Cas doesn’t ask it like that in return; instead, it’s, “How many do you think you’d like?” because Dean so obviously wants to build a family.

They cover the gauntlet. Dean is allergic to cats; Cas loves the smell of fresh-cut grass. Cas once streaked across his high school’s football field and got himself suspended for two days because of it. Dean subbed for the first time out of pure curiosity when he was 19, and then abandoned the concept entirely for years before he met Benny. They have a shared love of red wine, bordeaux in particular, and both lost their virginity at 16, to women. Dean’s slept with other women in the years hence. Cas hasn’t.

And all the while that they’re talking, Dean is working his way under Castiel’s skin. At first it’s just deep kisses, but as the minutes pass, it becomes roaming hands - over clothes, and then up under a shirt and into a waistband. Then the zipper is down and Dean’s hand is caressing inside, and Cas is once again having a hard time keeping up his end of the conversation.

Dean edges him the first time while he’s still fully clothed, and then kisses him back down, and when Castiel is looking back into those emerald pools, Dean reaches under the hem of the shirt to pull it up and remove it. They’re stretched out over Dean’s sofa, and Castiel can’t say for sure how they got like that.

And then, when Cas has just reached a place of calm, it comes. “Tell me about the scars, Castiel.”

His erection deflates like a pin-pricked balloon, and he tenses under Dean’s weight.

“Shhhh…” Gentle lip-only kisses to Cas’ neck, cheek, collarbone, all on the right side.

“Can’t.” His breath hitches just on the word.

“You’re safe here.”

The atmospheric shift between them has Castiel’s head in a vicious spin. They’d been playing and laughing, touching with deft and nimble fingers, teasing and daring one another, almost like a couple of teenagers slowly falling in love. There had been a comfortable peace to it. And suddenly here they are, Castiel just safely back from the edge of impending orgasm and still cursing Dean’s name in the subdued bratty part of his brain, and very clearly a Dom and a sub having a very serious conversation about Castiel’s whipping scars. He swallows hard and blinks away the tears.

_You’re safe here_.

Here, in Dean’s home, in Dean’s arms. Here, in the presence of a man he’s barely known a day. Here, in the presence of his Dominant. He draws a deep breath, holds it for a four-count, and then releases. Squeezes his eyes shut. Leans into Dean, nuzzles at his neck, and feels the warmth of Dean’s arms come around him.

“I know you’re thinking it was a partner. A Dom. Maybe even an accident when it happened. But it wasn’t.” He lets Dean marinate on that while licking his lips, and drawing another slow breath for strength. “I was 12. And it was my brother.”

***

There are a million ways in which Dean is sure he’s prepared for Castiel’s story.

Turns out, those million aren’t enough.

He’s floored when Castiel imparts the words, clenching in Dean’s lap like he can feel the sting of a whip against his back even as he says the words. And Dean just pulls him closer and presses a kiss into his hair, because there’s no going back now. Castiel is still speaking.

“Luke is, um. He’s six years older than me. The oldest of the bunch. All-star athlete, honor student, graduated cum laude from a private high school he’d gotten a scholarship to attend. Dad’s favorite, you know. All-American boy.” There’s a sneer in the way Castiel bites it out. “But he was evil. Satan incarnate, I swear, Dean. When Dad’s back was turned, Luke turned us all into his personal little army. Sent our baby sister on a run for blow when she was just 7 years old. Smacked around the little ones until they were so afraid, they’d do anything he wanted just to save from getting hit again. Gabe and I were… resilient, I guess. Always the jokesters. The brats. Sassing back, taking none of Luke’s crap. We were 10 when we started calling him Lucifer behind his back. And well. I was 12 when I let it slip to his face.” The first tear hits Dean’s bare arm, and he clutches the boy closer, lets the barely-there choked whispers wash over him. “After, he um. He sent the girls in to care for me for a few days, called me in sick to school. Dad never had a clue.”

It’s a long minute of silent sobs before Dean realizes that Castiel is finished speaking. He scrambles for something, anything to say, and grasps at the first thing that makes sense. “Where’s Luke now?”

Finally, blessedly, there’s the hitch of a chuckle against Dean’s chest. “Pontiac Correctional Center. Medium security prison. You know… I was 6 when Mom left and Dad checked out. Until that night, I’d prayed every single day since I could remember. But that day she left was the last time I ever prayed… until I learned that Luke had been arrested. It was… I was 16. Far as I know, he’s still there. I left when I was 18, and I never looked back.”

“Not to your brothers and sisters?”

“Some. Not all. The older ones, the ones who really remember what it was like with Luke, they’re as fractured as me. Either they bore the abuse, or they saw it and kept their yaps shut. Either way, most of us prefer just to pretend like it never happened. Best way to do that is to just turn away, I guess. But Gabe and I are close. I see Anna at Christmas. Others, sometimes, when they call.”

Dean strokes idle fingers through Castiel’s hair and presses a kiss to his crown. “Thank you for sharing this with me.”

“I’ve never told anyone before.”

There’s no response to that, really, except to tilt up Castiel’s chin and kiss him slowly, deeply, wholly, until they’re both ready to move into a new moment.

***

“One more question?” It’s a question in itself, the first words spoken between them, Dean’s rumble against Castiel’s lips.

 

He nods in response, not trusting his voice.

“After… all that. And after you left. Why, uh. Why this? Why submission? Why go around looking for somebody to hurt you?”

“I think we’ve established that I was never really looking to get hurt. I was looking for attention.” The quip is out before he can stop it, but if it bothers Dean, the Dom hides it well. “I said I’ve always been a brat, and I meant it. But I, uh. I wanted to feel secure. Taken care of. And the spanking… you introduce yourself as a sub and go around with a mouth like mine, and it’s just a natural extension. Or it was, until now.”

Dean kisses him again with a fire Cas has never experienced in intimacy. It’s not hard nor fast nor searching nor urging on to the next step. It’s… present, Cas thinks. Incredibly present, wanting for nothing. Cas feels alive and wanted and cherished in this kiss, and he wants to keep it forever. “I can do that for you.”

“I know.”

“Castiel?”

“Hmmm?”

“Trust me?”

“I do.”

The next thing he feels is Dean’s hand at his middle, then Dean’s lips kissing down the center of his chest, his belly, to join his hand at Castiel’s groin. Reverent hands unwrap him, and at the warm, wet feel of Dean’s mouth on his cock, Cas’ eyes roll back and he lets out a low moan.

They don’t really talk after that. Dean dedicates himself to his task, and Castiel embraces the tingling warmth of it, of Dean, of his Dominant who - Castiel realizes absently - is holding his hand while giving him a blowjob. And hell if that isn’t the hottest thing he’s ever experienced.

He squeezes that hand as he approaches the edge, and Dean squeezes back, giving another lick, another swath of the head of Castiel’s dick, another hard suck that has Cas thrusting up and whining before Dean pulls back and the only feeling surrounding Cas’ aching erection is the cool air being circulated by the ceiling fan above their heads.

But Dean’s still holding his hand.

Even as Cas’ tears fall, Dean’s still holding his hand.

Even as he sobs out in frustration and bucks his hips, Dean’s still holding his hand.

“Deep breaths,” comes the murmur of encouragement, and Cas complies with a nod. The first inhale shudders into being. The second comes easier, and the third is calm, but he keeps going because Dean is stroking at the thumb within his grasp. “You’re perfect and beautiful, Castiel. And you’re safe here.” He can only whine in response, but Dean just hums and nuzzles his nose at Cas’ hip.

A quiet minute passes, and then Dean rolls Cas onto his front. Cas’ breath hitches as Dean’s lips fall on the first scar. He knows it’s the biggest, the deepest. It starts at his right shoulder blade, and Dean’s mouth traces it all the way to the left flank.

He repeats the action silently on each scar - five in all. Cas loses track of time. He loses track of himself. He melts entirely, and by the time Dean has finished, Cas feels worshiped and safe and wanted. He feels like Dean Winchester has taken apart his soul and then put it back together in the most wonderful of ways. So when Dean’s voice husks behind his ear, “I’m going to edge you again,” in the second before he’s penetrated with a welcome and knowing finger, Cas doesn’t even flinch.

He’s in this all the way.

***

Dean smiles at the way Cas gives himself over, putty in Dean’s hands. The boy is so relaxed, Dean can slip in a second finger in no time.

God, Castiel… Cas. He’s beautiful and perfect. As a sub, as a person. As a partner.

He crooks a finger and -- there it is. Rubs the finger more insistently, causing Cas to moan and writhe beneath him. “That’s it, Angel. That’s it.”

“Gotta cum, Dean, gotta, I gotta…”

“Mmmm… nope. Not yet.”

“Please?”

“You’re adorable like this. Can’t say as I’m ready to let that go yet.” But he does withdraw his fingers. Edging is one thing, but he’s still testing Castiel’s limits. They’re a long way from delay or denial.

Besides, he thinks, that’s not what Castiel needs right now.

The oil he’d used to grease his fingers works equally well for a massage, and since he’d technically never finished that back at the Mark, he transitions into it now. He starts at the hips and lower back, running parallel thumbs up a limber spine, before beginning to knead at the muscles of the sub’s strong shoulders.

There’s a moan of a different kind of contentment and release, and Dean purrs in response, doubling his efforts. He loses himself in the sound of their breathing, which synched at some point… he can’t say when. But Castiel’s inhales are deep, his exhales soft.

Until Dean returns nimble fingers to the crevice of his ass and into his hole. Then he’s sucking in air and moaning in pleasurable agony. Dean chuckles at that. Seeks out the magic spot to press and prod and experiment… this is one of his favorite parts: Taking a submissive’s arousal apart, down to its foundation, to find out what makes it tick. What makes it stronger, what makes it wane. By Castiel’s inherent response, Dean guages a preference for pressure just left of center; direct nudges at the bundle of nerves brings out a “nnnnggghhh” that’s definitely not affirmative. Nodding to himself, and not able to deny temptation any longer, he removes his fingers and lines up his cock instead. Castiel takes him easily, and when he’s sheathed, he starts a careful rhythm, aiming for that sweet spot he’d just scoped out.

“Jesus…”

“You can call me Dean.”

“Dean… fuck…”

“Oh, don’t worry. There’ll be plenty of that.” He pauses to coax Castiel up onto his haunches and back into Dean’s lap, so that he’s riding him, and so that Dean can hold his hands, fingers knitted together at their sides. He latches onto Castiel’s right earlobe, licking and sucking and nipping to stake a claim.

He brings their joined right hands into Castiel’s lap to wrap around his erection, Dean’s hand over Castiel’s, as though he’s in charge of the motion - but he’s not. He’s just along for the ride. “OK. I got you, OK?”

“Nghhh…”

“Whenever you’re ready, we’ll both go.”

It’s not long after that.

There’s a rushing in Dean’s ears and a palpable stillness, and then a cry from the boy in his arms. Dean finishes when he’s clenched inside Castiel’s ass, mouth latched firmly to mark the boy’s neck at the shoulder.

He sucks long and hard, licking and biting for longer than is probably necessary. He wants to make sure he leaves a mark. Because this one is _his_ , and this one is _protected_ and _safe_ and _loved_ and _cared for_ , and no one but no one is going to lay a hand on Castiel ever again.

***

He can’t explain why, but when Castiel comes down from the high of orgasm and subspace and mind-blowing sex, he feels about 200 pounds lighter than he had when he’d first entered Dean’s apartment.

They’re still on Dean’s couch, and he can feel a vague pain at the base of his neck that says Dean left a hickey there, but he doesn’t mind. It’s kind of nice, actually. It doesn’t seem lewd or sophomoric or anything… it feels like the mark of a man who cares very much that everyone knows Castiel is taken.

That Castiel has a place. That he’s protected. Even loved.

He sighs contently and leans back into the muscular chest at his back. Arms wrap around him and lips nibble at his ears, ghosting kisses and whispers and tiny little laps of the tongue. “We need to get up,” comes a deep rumble eventually, and Castiel nods, shifting slightly to allow Dean out from under his body.

He tries not to think too hard about the mess they’ve made of Dean’s couch.

“Hungry?”

He hadn’t thought about it until Dean asked, but yeah - as his attention shifts, he rubs his belly and nods.

“We’ll get burgers in a bit. First, though.” Dean produces the now-familiar journal from the back pocket of his jeans and holds it up pointedly for Castiel before passing it over in an outstretched arm.

Cas just takes it and nods, though he’s worrying his lower lip between his teeth. “I, um…”

“I’m especially curious about your emotional state. Anything that feels too draining to talk about, or any noticeable shifts after this scene. OK?”

“Yeah, OK.”

Dean nods and turns to depart, but stops and looks back at Castiel after a moment. “Are you OK to be alone?”

“Yeah.” Cas feels a lot of things - mentally exhausted, exhilarated, content, confused… but not afraid. He nods and offers what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

“Awesome. I’ll be in the shower. When you’re finished, it’s your turn.”

Alone, Castiel turns and finds a comfortable place in the corner of the couch to pull up his knees and write.

***

Dean is fresh from the shower, still wearing a navy blue towel around his waist when he accepts the closed journal from Castiel with a cheek-kiss and a smile. He carries the journal with him to his bedroom and sets it on his dresser while he pulls on maroon boxer briefs and a decent pair of jeans. Then, shirtless, as he hears the shower start up next door, he pushes aside fantasies of a showering Castiel and instead cracks open the journal and sits down at the foot of his bed to read.

He flits his eyes and a wistful smile over the entry from that morning - the first line, he suspects, will always make him laugh. Then he turns to the new entry, dated just as the first, and starts to read.

> _No matter what you say, I’m a little embarrassed at the amount of time I’ve spent crying in your arms in the past several hours. And this is my journal, so I’m allowed to say whatever I want. That’s how this works, right?_

  
Dean cracks a smile and a short laugh because there’s the sass and self-assurance that had drawn him to Castiel in the first place. There’s the spark he loves so very much.

> _Anyway. I want you to know how much I appreciate your patience, and your listening ear, and your gentleness. It’s something I’ve known only sparsely through my life. Something I didn’t realize I needed. I’d learned to live with the hard edges that come with being a general pain in everyone’s ass. To be accepted and cared for and wrapped in softness is new. But it’s not unwelcome._
> 
> _I have one question. Was our scene on the couch a continuation of the scene you started earlier, back at the club? If so, I admire your persistence. And in any case, I look forward to the next time you decide I’m in need of a massage. Am I allowed to request such things from you? I guess I don’t know. Hell, I’m not even entirely sure what you want me to call you. You’re the first Dom who’s explicitly asked me to use his first name._

His mind flits to the contract, which he’d left back at The Mark. It hadn’t seemed prudent to push it on the heels of their broken scene and Castiel’s emotional state, but if the boy has questions, perhaps it’s time to bring it up.

> _I feel like so far we’ve forged this relationship through you taking care of me, which is sort of the reverse of what I’m used to. I feel fidgety. I feel a need to do something for YOU for a change. But I’m unclear about what that would be or, if I took an initiative like this morning with the coffee, I’m insecure about how it would be received._
> 
> _Bottom line is, despite my appreciation of what you said earlier, I’m a submissive, and I need your direction. I appreciate that you consider me an equal and respect my freedom to choose, but right now, I need you to put your Dominant pants on and take the lead._

He finishes reading just as the shower turns off, and takes a moment to compose his thoughts before pushing to his feet, pocketing the journal and meeting Castiel at the bathroom threshold. Cas smiles, and Dean takes him into the circle of his arms and into a kiss. “Good shower?”

Castiel nods and accepts a nuzzle of Dean’s nose against his own. “Great water pressure,” he says before Dean nudges him up into an open-mouthed kiss, holding him still at the waist while inviting his tongue to dance. It’s brief and undemanding, and then he kisses Castiel’s cheek and steps back to let the other man out of the bathroom.

“Good. Get dressed. Anything out of my dresser that’s comfortable as long as there’s no holes. And we’ll go get some dinner.”

He catches the rise of Castiel’s eyebrows at the directive, but there’s just the one hint of surprise and then he gets compliance.

_Good boy_. Dean smiles, eyes on Castiel’s naked ass as he walks away. _Very, very good_.

***

Dean wasn’t lying about the burgers.

When he’d said there was a “good burger joint” near his place, Cas had imagined a diner of some sort, probably a greasy spoon with 50s music bopping out of overhead speakers, amazing milkshakes and formica tables in retro booths.

The Roadhouse isn’t that.

It’s a bar, first of all - as they arrive it’s obvious that most of the patrons there to drink, and the food is secondary. But Dean leads him to a high-top table and they perch on barstools, and they’re waited on by a blonde who, in Cas’ estimation, is barely old enough to drink. Dean orders for them both, and since he’s familiar with the menu and Cas isn’t, there’s no argument. The young woman departs, and Dean turns a smile on Cas. “That’s Claire,” he says, gesturing in the direction their waitress had headed. “This was her folks’ place until her dad died last year and her mom took off… couldn’t handle it, I guess. Poor kid had nowhere to turn. Almost lost this place and her home.” The smile’s still there, but it slides a bit sideways in memory. “Anyway, I uh. Taught her a thing or two about running a business. Sam sat her down and ironed out her finances, cosigned a small business loan to make improvements and repairs, and voila. She’s a budding business woman.”

The story warms Castiel on the inside, and he tilts his head to the side, examining his… Dean. “You like helping people.”

“I do.”

“Is that why you’re interested in me? You think you can… I don’t know. Help me? Fix me?”

“Castiel.” Dean’s face suddenly drops its casual demeanor and turns stern as he stares down Cas with a smouldering glare. “There’s absolutely nothing about you needs fixing, understand?”

Now Cas feels warmth in his face instead of his soul, and he lowers his eyes to study the tabletop. “I’m sorry.”

“You have struck me from the very first words you spoke to be a confident, quirky, funny, clever and extremely sexy man, submissiveness be damned. I wasn’t drawn to you because I thought you needed fixing. I was drawn to you because your smartass mouth was one I wanted to get to know better.” A tense silence falls and Dean drums his fingertips nervously on the table for a few beats before he continues. “Look at me.” And he waits for compliance before he speaks again, stilling his hand, staring down Castiel like maybe he’s going to eat him alive right here in this bar. “You wanted to know what I expect of you as a sub? Here it is, so you listen up and you listen good, because I’m not overly fond of repeating myself.” Cas isn’t sure he could blush any more scarlet if he tried, but he manages to nod and look up into Dean’s eyes. “If you’re my submissive, then you’re my partner. That means we do for each other all the things that partners do. That means we respect ourselves and each other. We build each other up, we work together to get shit done, we compliment each others’ strengths, and we support each others’ goals. I expect not just respect, but self-respect. Confidence. Comfort in being yourself. I expect honesty. Because that’s what partners do. What we might do in the bedroom? The exact…” he mimes his hands a bit, looking for the right word, “ _structure_ of our relationship? Is secondary. Yes, I take care of you, and you take care of me in return, and that’s how it’ll always roll. It’s not one-sided, you’re not broken, and there’s no reason for you to be sorry. End of story.”

Dean finishes his rant about ten seconds before the food arrives, for which Castiel is grateful because it means he can stuff his face instead of trying to generate a response. The burger is delicious as promised, and the cross-cut fries are equally amazing and somehow not greasy. Cas is halfway finished with his burger and still unsure of how to respond when Dean solves that problem for them both, filling the silence with a quiet question. “What do you expect from me?”

And it makes Castiel laugh.

It starts as a tickle in his gut and a silent chuckle, but it builds quickly into a full laugh that has him almost falling off his stool. “I--” He attempts to stifle his laughter, only to fail when he catches the glint in Dean’s eye. His partner is smiling, too - clearly bemused but enjoying the sight and sound of Castiel’s glee. And so he makes no further attempt to constrain his laughter, letting it bubble up and out of his body and enjoying the feel of just being with Dean like this, happy, carefree… laughing.

Like friends do. Like lovers do.

God, he wants it to be like this forever.

When he finally sobers, he meets Dean’s eyes and grasps the still-dancing light in those green pools. Bites his lip. Smirks. “Do you know that no one’s ever asked me that before? About my expectations?”

“Is that what you were laughing so hard about?” He still sounds bemused, and he’s still smiling, but the smile has slid to something a bit sadder. Dean grabs an abandoned fry out of Castiel’s basket and feeds it to him.

“Yes.” He accepts the hand-feeding of a second fry before stealing one out of Dean’s basket and eating it with a satisfied smirk.

“It’s not really funny. You’re allowed to have expectations. Wants. Needs.”

“I know.”

“Oh do you now?”

Castiel doesn’t really have a good response except to let Dean feed him another fry. But then he leans into Dean’s shoulder for a nuzzle, and the gesture is welcomed with a nuzzle in return and an arm around Cas’ back. “Maybe not as much as I thought.” He’s surprised at how Dean’s presence just brings him to a calm, and maybe he shouldn’t be. There’s a quiet “hmmm” from the other man, and Cas leans into him a bit more. “I guess I don’t know what I should expect from you, because so far you’ve been everything I’ve ever looked for, and nothing of what I’ve ever had. I want what you’re giving me. I want…”

“Tenderness?”

“Yes.”

“Comfort?”

“Yes.”

“A place to call home?”

“A person to make it home.”

Dean sighs contentedly, and Castiel chances a glance at him. Their smiles meet a full minute before their lips. Cas can’t say for sure, he can’t speak for Dean, but he wonders if it’s because that’s the moment they fell in love, and they both got caught up in it.

“Well then.” It’s a hot breath against Castiel’s parted lips, and then there’s another kiss. “I think we’ve got something solid to build on, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“I like that you say ‘yeah.’”

“Yeah?”

“It’s human. Informal. I don’t really do formality.”

“So…”

“Call me Dean. I want it any different, I’ll say.”

“Call me Cas?”

Dean pulls back to show a hint of evil in his eyes. “I still like Castiel. I’ll still use it when I’m inside you.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?” It’s a great callback, and it feels years old, despite the infancy of their relationship. Dean throws his head back in a full-body laugh, and Cas joins in. It’s a long moment before Dean sobers himself enough to set his jaw and raise his eyebrows in challenge on the response.

“Trust me, Beautiful. It’s both.”


End file.
